


find my way (find my way home)

by plinys



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 06:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12293322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: “A Kingsman shouldn’t have attachments.”"Bullshit."





	find my way (find my way home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thirstforfirth (QueenOfSparrabeth)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfSparrabeth/gifts).



> A far more Hartwin rewrite of that plane scene from the Golden Circle.

They’re on a plane going to save the world again.

A hazard of the job, something Eggsy’s become used to at this point. Travel to new and exotic places, shoot people, save the world. The only part he’s not used to is the part where the person sitting across from him, is one, very much alive, Harry Hart. 

Eggsy can’t stop staring at him, disbelief still even know taking hold of him.

There must be a look on his face, some sort of expression, because Harry reads right through him, asking what’s wrong even if he misunderstands the reason from Eggsy’s expression. 

There’s so many ways to answer that question, the point out everything that’s gone wrong since this mission began. To point out the bad feeling that seems to be growing within him, the feeling of unease, and loss, and regret -  mixed most strongly with a feeling that seems almost traitorous, the feeling the even if everything else has gone wrong, there’s one part of this whole mess that has gone right. 

Harry is here in front of him.

Sitting there, concerned, but alive. 

Asking about Eggsy’s relationship with Tilde of all things. 

He knows what he’s supposed to say. Words that are supposed to come out, the words that anyone else would say, but it’s been a lot, this whole thing has, and there’s  _ Harry  _ sitting right across from him. Harry, who had been dead for the last two years. Harry, who up until what seems like mere hours before had been staring at him like he had never seen Eggsy before, and suddenly talking about Tilde seems like the last thing he wants to do. 

Still he forces the words out. 

“I think it’s over, between me and Tilde” he says, and finds that those aren’t the hardest words to say. Maybe all this time he had been looking for an excuse to leave, a reason to point out that saving the world and getting the girl wasn’t what he had wanted. 

No.

He’d always wanted something else. 

He’d wanted to close his eyes and go back to how things had been before he saved the world. Back to when he was in Harry’s home, learning to talk proper and to make a martini and which fork to use - 

“Perhaps that’s for the best,” Harry says.

For a second, Eggsy forgets how to breathe, because these thoughts had been pushed down years before, pushed down with the plans of an eventually and one day, put on hold by a bullet shot point blank. 

When Harry gets up from his seat and Eggsy follows him instinctively, over the plane’s bar. There’s something there for a moment, a quip about if he still remembers how to make a proper martini and, Eggsy smiles back because, he needs a drink. 

If they’re going to have  _ this  _ conversation he needs it. 

Though it’s only after he has the drink in his hand, that Harry speaks again that it all goes off track.

“A Kingsman shouldn’t have attachments,” Harry continues, once the matter of drinks has been settled.

And Eggsy can’t help but wonder how they got on two completely separate pages.

“What?”

Harry lets out the smallest of sighs, barely anything, before repeating his words, “A Kingsman shouldn’t have attachments.” 

Which is complete bullshit, because Eggsy knows better than that, because the concern is still there between Harry’s eyebrows and even just now back with his memories in place, with things still a little bit not right from time to time, and Eggsy knows better. 

Attachments, while discouraged at Kingsman, had never been a rule anyone followed.

Something the constant ache in Eggsy’s chest, that had only grown as of late, could attest to. 

They were fools to pretend otherwise. 

And yet, Harry seems content to act as though this were true, as if he was above all that - there’s a voice in the back of Eggsy’s mind that says  _ typical Harry  _ the mix of relief and annoyance back again - “I’ve never felt love.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me.” 

“You never loved anyone? Never? Never gotten attached? Cause fuck, Harry, I know that ain’t true. You don’t have to offer me you sympathies or whatever bullshit about Tilde, I don’t need that, don’t fucking care about that, but-” The words seem easy after that, the words that have been there in his mind for too long, spilling out at once. “Don’t you dare tell me that Kingsman aren’t supposed to form attachments, ‘cause we’re the only  _ Kingsman  _ left and-.”

_ And I love you. _

_ And I’ve loved you for years even when you were gone. _

_ And I know it was too soon and never the right time to say the words, but I’ve felt them since that night. _

_ And I still love you.  _

“And I need you, I’ve needed you for the last two years.” 

His voice sounds tight even to his own years, not composed because how can he be in the face of all of this. Having a conversation that he’d never thought he’d be able to have, but one he imagined far too often. 

It’s too much.

The echoing silence can tell him as much.

But they’re words that had been there in the back of his mind for far too long. 

Words that kept taking him back to that one night, twenty-four hours that were supposed to have meant something, that was more than just learning to make a proper martini, it was learning to be someone else, and to feel things that he hadn’t been sure he’d ever felt before.

And then it turned into disappointment.

And then it turned into loss.

And then it turned into pretending to cope. 

And then it turned into - 

“Of course, I care about you.” 

It’s not exactly what Eggsy wanted to hear, but it’s something, small and there and it has to count for something. The way Harry’s face has shifted from concern to compassion, the way Eggsy can still read these little changes, they must matter. 

“I lost you,” Eggsy says, “I’ve lost much, but you’re here now back, and yeah it fucking hurts, hurts looking at you, hurt when you didn’t know who I fucking was, but now-”

“I’m here,” Harry says, and it’s not enough, but it’s a start. 

There’s a hand resting on top of his on the bar top, a hand that is heavy and warm and alive and real and not just another one of Eggsy’s bad dreams that he can never be sure if they’re good or bad. 

This is real. 

This is a start.

This is Harry. 

“Stay,” he says, even though he knows that’s impossible, even though they’re about to go in there, and either save the world or die trying. 

But none of that matters, none of it compares to the light pressure of Harry’s hand squeezing his ever so slightly, before he repeats the words Eggsy had been waiting too long for, “I’m here.” 


End file.
